Nicholas snapped the latches on the bag. "After I left here, I wandered the streets for a while, trying to clear my thoughts, remembering your words and what happened on the strand. I knew you were right about one thing: If I accused Glory unjustly, she wouldn't forgive me a second time. Still, I wasn't sure. I drank too much, ended up sleeping in some dingy room above the Fraunces Tavern.

I dreamed about her all night, couldn't stop thinking about her, about our times together, the way she made me feel. When I woke up, I knew she wouldn't have just run away. She's too damned honest, too sincere. She'd have told me. Brad. I knew it without the slightest doubt. After that I went to work to find out what happened. Once I saw the reward poster, the rest was easy. I had to bribe half the drunks in town to find out which ship she was on, but I finally found out." He grinned. "There aren't many sailors who would forget a woman like Glory."

"What are you going to do now?"

"The Black Witch is in port. So's the Black Diamond. Their crews are on leave, but I found Mac, Josh Pintassle, and Jago Dodd at the Tontine Tavern. They've rounded up enough men to make way. We'll take the Black Witch. She's the fastest. We should make Charleston damn near as fast as that leaky tub, the Southern Star.

"I'll go with you," Brad offered.

"Not a chance. You've got school to think about." Nicholas set his jaw. "I'll bring her back, I promise you. And they'd better not have laid a scurvy hand on her."

Even at night the marshes along the pine-covered shores looked familiar. Glory felt a rush of nostalgia as she stood on the deck, wind whipping her skirts, watching the coastline slip by not far off the starboard rail. She'd forgotten the fragrance of azalea that tinged the air, forgotten the warmth of the southern breeze. If circumstances had been different, she'd have been eager to see her home, visit family and old friends. Now all she thought about was what would happen to Nathan once he was returned to Summerfield Manor-and what had become of Nicholas.

Every waking hour she spent without him seemed an eternity. Every moment of restless sleep was beset by memories, fantasy dreams in which Nicholas appeared beside; her or kissed her until she was breathless and warm all over.

In her dreams he made love to her, time and time again. Then she would awaken to a rush of despair, her body hot and tightly strung, achy, and tense.

Glory stared down at the water sweeping beneath the hull, an iridescent froth glistening in the moonlight. By tomorrow night, Spencer James had told her, they'd be docking in Charleston. The trip had taken even longer than shed imagined. They'd stopped twice to drop off or pick up runaway slaves, and on top of that the Southern Star was a wide-keeled slow-moving old boat. Glory thanked God the trip was almost over-but Nathan's ordeal was just beginning.

It still seemed out of character for Louise Summerfield to carry a grudge this far. She was too practical, too concerned with the everyday problems of running the plantation, to get caught up in revenge. Still, there was the poster to consider. Nathan's roommate said a reward had been offered to bring Nathan home.

Glory shuddered against a gust of cool wind that tore at her hair and whipped at her skirts. Somehow, some way, she had to make her mother see reason.

"Evenin', darlin'."

Glory turned with a start. Matt Bigger stood beside her, eyes fixed on the gentle curve of her bosom hidden beneath her soft cashmere shawl. She pulled her wrap a little closer around her shoulders as she faced the sandy-haired man. "Good evening, Mr. Bigger."

"Mr. Bigger. I like that." He teased the edge of her jaw with his finger. "I like my women polite. Polite and pretty-just like you. I been doin' some thinkin'. 'Bout what Spence and Lester said, how you was goods and all. I figure my share of the take this trip to be a good bit of cash. I could make it up to 'em for their share of the profit on you. You and me could go away together. Go some-wheres and make a fresh start."

"I'm flattered, Mr. Bigger," Glory said, straining to make her voice sound even, "but as I told you before, I already have a husband."

Matt's green eyes rested on her face. "Makes no difference to me. I got a powerful need for you, Glory." He placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her just inches away from his face. "Come downstairs with me. I'll show you how good a real man can make you feel."

Glory fought against the tremors she knew were just moments away. "Please, Matt. You're a nice boy. But I-"

"You're gonna come downstairs with me," he told her, all the softness gone from his voice. "You're gonna entertain me proper like, and you ain't gonna say a word about it to nobody. 'Cause if you do, I'm gonna see that nigger boy of yours has a little accident."

Glory swallowed hard, fighting back tears. What on earth could she do? Bigger tugged her toward the passageway. It was dark and musty in the narrow corridor. Wildly, Glory glanced around, looking for some means of escape. If she screamed, other men would come to her aid, but from the looks she'd been getting these past few days, she might have more than one attacker to defend herself against. Bigger swung open his cabin door and forced her inside, closing the door with a soft thud behind him.

"Don't you understand, Glory? I gotta have you. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Matt, please, listen to me."

"Shut up! I'm tired o' listening. After we make love, you'll feel different. We can go away together. Now, take off that dress."

"You know I'm not going to do that."

He stiffened. "If you want that nigger boy to get back home alive, you will."

Glory swallowed past the lump of tears in her throat.

"I don't want to hurt you, Glory. You're about the prettiest, sweetest little thing I ever seen. No one's gonna know." Bigger advanced on her. "Now, take it off." Glory took a step back. "All right. I'll do as you say." Stalling for time she turned her back to him and removed her shawl, then began to unbutton the front of her dress. Her eyes searched madly for something she could use as a weapon.

"Turn around. I wanna watch."

Shaking all over, Glory did as he asked. Glancing about, her eyes locked on exactly what she needed. Resting on a barrel next to Bigger's arm, the antler handle of a small, thin-bladed knife protruded from its sheath. If she could just distract him long enough, she could loose the knife and use it to gain her freedom.

Glory unbuttoned each button with care until she'd reached her waist. Bigger slid the material off her shoulders. His hands felt rough against her skin, and Glory fought the urge to run. The skirt of the dress buttoned down the back.

"Would you mind helping me?" she asked.

Bigger's one dark tooth flashed as he grinned. "My pleasure."

Glory got as close to him as she dared, then again turned her back. While Bigger fumbled with her buttons, Glory carefully freed the knife. She slid the blade out just as the sandy-haired man realized what she was doing.

"Why, you little minx!" He spun her around and slapped her, sending Glory sprawling and the knife flying. She saw where it landed and rolled to grab it just as Bigger lunged. She'd moved the knife only inches-it was enough.

Bigger fell on the blade, his weight heavy on top of her. She heard the breath leave his lungs in a rush, felt something warm and slick between her fingers. The door burst open and Lester Fields raced in.

"What the hell's goin' on here?"

Glory couldn't answer. Her teeth were chattering, her body shaking all over. Fields pulled Bigger off her, and he rolled into a protective ball, clutching his injured shoulder.

"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "It was an accident."

Lester Fields helped her to her feet. "You did what you had to, ma'am."

To her surprise, Bigger grinned up at her. "You got grit, darlin'. I'll say that for you."

"Leave her alone, Matt," Fields said.

Glory pulled the bodice of her dress up over her che-miss, buttoned the soft merino with shaky fingers, then let Lester Fields guide her from the room.

"Don't you worry, ma'am," Lester told her. "I shoulda kept a closer eye on him. He really ain't such a bad sort, 'cept when it comes to women. Then he sorta goes crazy. Women's always been Matt's downfall, and you're way pertier than most."

"I'm afraid he'll hurt my brother."

"Matt's no fool. Nigger means money. He likes money almost as much as he does women." He flashed a reassuring smile, gray muttonchop sideburns pulling wide with the expression.

Hoping Lester Fields was right, Glory let him lead her down the corridor to her room. That night she propped the barrel and the chair against the door.

"We've made good time, lad. With any luck at all, we'll make Charleston right behind 'em." Mac leaned an arm on the mast, watching the coastline in the distance. Nicholas stood a few feet away, hand gripping the shrouds, black-booted foot propped against the rail. The warm southern breeze ruffled his clean white linen shirt and curly black hair.

"You and the men have done a fine job," Nicholas said, "but I can't help worrying."

"Aye. She's a beautiful woman, lad. A temptation to any man. But she's a fighter. Smart, too. She'll take care of herself. Ye have to believe that. Besides, they wouldna be takin' her along if there were no profit in it. They expect to be paid. She'll do 'em no good if she's not returned unharmed."

"I hope you're right, Mac."

"Excuse me, Captain." Josh Pintassle walked up beside him looking as handsome as ever, if a bit more mature. "Any special orders before I turn in?"

Nicholas smiled, "No, Josh. We're making record time, thanks to your efforts. You know how much I appreciate it."

We should make port late tomorrow night. Knowing the Southern Star, she won't be far ahead of us."

Nicholas nodded. "It depends on whether she's made stops along the way."

"Most likely she has. Wouldn't make sense for her not to." Josh glanced toward the wheel. Jago Dodd manned the helm, his knife-scarred face set to the task. They'd run with a spare crew, put in twice the normal hours, but it felt good to be back with old shipmates. Josh turned toward his friend and mentor. Captain Blackwell looked different somehow. Certainly he looked worried, but a new sureness, an inner strength, had stilled the restlessness that had plagued him before. Loving a good woman could do that for a man. Or so it was said. Josh hoped one day he'd find out for himself.

"Think I'll go below, Captain."

"Good night, Josh."

"Ye had best git some sleep yourself, lad," Mac told Nicholas.

"I will, Mac."

" 'Night, Cap'n." Mac's heavy footfalls receded across the deck, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Moonlight glistened on the crests of the waves, reminding Nicholas of the lights in Glory's flaxen hair. God, how he missed her. When they got home, he vowed, he wouldn't let her out of his bed for a week!

When they got home. He pulled a thin black cheroot from his pocket, struck a lucifer against the rail, and lit up, inhaling the pungent smoke. Let her be all right, he thought for the hundredth time. Let her be safe and unharmed.

And make her want to go home.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

The Southern Star reached the Charleston docks early the following afternoon. Glory had stayed in her cabin, letting no one in except Lester Fields, who brought her a tray of food.

Now, as she climbed the ladder to the deck and caught her first glimpse of home in almost a year, Glory felt a tightening in her chest. She'd missed this place. Missed seeing the old Negro women braiding baskets from sweet glass, palmetto, and pine needles as they'd been doing for decades. Missed summers on Sullivans Island. Missed she-crab soup and oyster and sausage pie.

But now above all else she missed Nicholas. Even the beauty of Charleston couldn't stay him from her thoughts. Again she wondered if he'd been true or if he had been driven to seek comfort in another woman's arms. Whatever had happened, somehow she had to get word to him.

She moved toward the rail where Lester Fields, gray stovepipe hat in hand, stood beside Spencer James. Matt Bigger waited with Nathan and a string of glossy blackskinned slaves all chained together. Glory's heart went out to them. Except for his cocoa coloring, Nathan looked like the others-gaunt and haggard, tired and bedraggled- older than their years, it seemed to Glory. Nathan's elegant frock coat was missing, his white shirt and fawn trousers no more than a tattered mass of brown-stained rags. His feet were bare and dirty. She moved to his side and put her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Nathan, what have they done to you?"

"Hush, now," he soothed. "We're almost home."

"Are you all right?"

"I've felt better." He took a deep breath of the salty sea air. "Feels good just to breathe clean air again."

"Git away from the darkie," Matt Bigger warned. "Ain't seemly for a white woman to be talkin' to a Nigra, let alone touchin' 'im."

"Do as he says, Glory," Nathan told her, seeing her stiffen, ready to do battle. For once she did as her brother asked.

"I'd like to get word to my husband," she said to Lester Fields. "I need to let him know I'm all right."

"That'll have to wait till you get home," Matt put in. His mood had darkened the minute she mentioned her husband. "We ain't got time for your socializin'."

Glory squared her shoulders, once more ready to fight. Then her proud bearing sank. What difference would another day or two make? By now the damage was done. Or at least so she imagined. Last night her dreams had been of Nicholas wrapped in Kristen Pedigru's arms.

"She's gone, Kristen," he'd said to the dark-haired beauty. "She never really loved me anyway."

"I love you, Nicky. Let me show you how much." Glory had awakened in a cold sweat, images of Nicholas kissing Kristen's heated flesh imprinted on her mind. She closed her eyes against a sudden rush of pain and headed down the gangplank.

Four horses were waiting on the docks for the ride to the plantation. None carried a sidesaddle. Glory had never ridden astride, but she didn't protest. Instead she let Lester Fields lead the animal over to a small wooden crate so she could mount. She settled herself onto the low-cantled man's saddle and dug her soft kid shoes into the metal stirrups, skirts hiked up on her calves. Her stockings had gotten so tom and ragged that she had discarded them long ago.

Matt Bigger stared at her with a hungry look in his eye and a wide grin on his boyish face. The bandage on his shoulder protruded from the open front of his homespun shirt. "Let's get goin'," he said. "We'll take the girl and the fine-talkin' darkie home first, then deliver the rest."

Glory didn't argue. She just hoped no one would recognize her. Her hair was a mess, her clothing a bloodstained shambles. She wanted this whole sordid business settled with as little notoriety as possible. Her family had lived in Charleston for years. The Summerfield name did not deserve to be sullied; her father's memory did not deserve it.

They rode all afternoon, the pace a fast crawl that forced the slaves to keep moving in a long forlorn column stretched out behind them. The sound of their clanking chains broke Glory's heart. Matt Bigger rode beside her, green eyes glued to the smooth skin bared between ankle and hem. Once he ran his hand all the way up to the curve of her bottom, and Glory wanted to scream. Instead she jerked on the reins, bringing the horse to a halt and nearly unseating Bigger from his. He chuckled and winked at her. God, she wished she were home.

"There she is, lad. The Southern Star." They stood at the rail, Mac beside Nicholas. The Charleston dock swarmed with activity even though dusk had set in. Wagons and drays rumbled past, and raucous laughter bubbled from nearby taverns.

"Back the sails smartly!" Nicholas ordered as the Black Witch pulled alongside the dock. The ship was made fast in minutes, and Nicholas, Mac, Jago, and Josh headed down the gangway. Mac stopped to speak with a passing sailor, then caught up with the others just as they entered the livery.

"That was Timothy Jones from the Star," Mac told them. "He says she put in early this afternoon. The slavers were leading a string o' Negroes, so there'll be a bit o' time afore they reach the plantation."

"Was Glory with them?"

"She sure was, lad. Timothy says he couldna miss a face like hers. Says she was fine, last he saw her." Mac slid his eyes away. Nicholas didn't miss the look.

"Tell me the rest."

Mac took a breath. "Seems one o' the slavers took a shine to her. Tried to force himself on her. Glory stuck him wi' his own knife."

Nicholas set his jaw. "What else?"

"Timothy said Bigger-that's the mon's name-was braggin' to the crew he was gonna bed her, one way or another. Says she owes him. For what she done to his shoulder."

"Damn!" Nicholas stormed, gray eyes dark. "Let's get going. We haven't a moment to lose." He swung into his saddle and the others followed suit. Threading their way through the noisy throng of people along the wharf, they picked up the pace as they headed out of town.

By late evening the slavers had reached the far boundaries of the Summerfield plantation. Glory recognized the lane beside the rice field she'd ridden with Nicholas. How long ago that had been. The slaves had begun to sing as they trudged along the road, their deep voices sweet and low on the still evening air. Nathan's voice mingled with the others, but Glory could easily discern his flawless speech pattern, so different from the lowland drawl of the rest.

She was surprised when they passed the road to the main house and headed instead up a back lane that led to the residence of the overseer, Jonas Fry.

"Why aren't we going to the manor?" she asked Spencer James.

"Fry's the man we come to see."

Glory felt a shiver of apprehension, but brushed it away. They were on Summerfield land now. Everything was going to be fine. Bone-tired, she kicked her feet free of the stirrups to stretch her sore legs, raw and strained from so many hours in the unfamiliar saddle.